


it's gonna be the last day of our lives

by badcoms



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode Tag, Episode: s01e06 FZZT, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 05:12:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7154954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badcoms/pseuds/badcoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She kisses a spot underneath his eyebrow, on the dimple of his cheek, his nose, his eyelid—she can’t help it. She’s kissing him and she doesn’t know why apart from this crushing urge to be close to him, and that’s enough to rationalize it in this moment. She won’t be able to later—after—but now is what’s important, now is all they have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's gonna be the last day of our lives

**Author's Note:**

> This was mostly inspired by my conversation with Emma/[filzsimmons](http://archiveofourown.org/users/filzsimmons) and also because I spend a lot of my time thinking about what it would've been like if Fitzsimmons had sex in season one. Especially because of this episode. It ruined my life. 
> 
> Title credit: "Honeysuckle (Milwaukee)" by Canon Blue.

“And I was going to do it.”

“I know you were.”

“I had the antiserum, the chute—everything. I just couldn’t get the straps on—”

“—Fitz, _please_.”

“And you know, maybe I couldn’t have done the whole ‘James Bond in midair’—”

“Fitz— _shut up—_ ”

“—type of thing—”

“— _Please_ , just.” Jemma’s hands are clenched in effort not to throttle him to death. She adores Fitz, really, but he can be so infuriating at the absolute worst times. “Ward did an amazing thing, yes,” she pauses, staring at him intently, her lips twitching slightly with a smile. “But it wasn’t _Ward_ by my side in that lab searching for a cure.”

He’s listening, still jittery with nervousness, but he’s listening.

Jemma takes a breath, searching for the right words. “It wasn’t Ward giving me hope when I had none,” she feels something inside of her shake, heavy with emotion. She nudges him playfully, aiming for levity.  “It was _you_. You’re the hero.”

Fitz is smiling now, a small force quirking his lips upwards, but Jemma can still feel his doubt. He won’t meet her eyes, his arms clenched around his pillow, until finally, he does, as if he’s won the battle inside his head. His eyes are bright with appreciation at the praise but still clouded by lingering shyness.

She holds his gaze, her face splitting into a wider smile before she can stop it, and she nearly wavers when something else flashes in his eyes, something she’s unable to identify.

“Yeah,” he affirms, convincing himself slowly.

Jemma feels relief, nodding encouragingly. “Yeah.” She sobers up after a moment, her heart in her throat. “Thank you,” her voice is earnest, the most genuine she’s ever felt.

He looks away from her again, nodding to himself, but it’s fine. She leans forward, pressing her lips chastely against his cheek in attempt to express her gratitude, but it feels inadequate somehow, the sentiment cheapened in its execution.

She nearly died and he prevented that for reasons she’s not quite sure either of them are ready to acknowledge yet, but it hovers in her mind—the driving force of what decision she’ll make next.  

She lingers there, just inches away from his cheek as a new feeling settles into place and Fitz looks at her, his eyes wide and worried, as if something else has happened.

“Jemma, what’s—?”

She kisses him suddenly, clutching the sides of his face.

Fitz doesn’t respond, too shell-shocked to move, his lips parted and slack. She pulls away from him just as suddenly as she invaded his space, staring.

He stares and she stares some more and yet, somehow, they’re not actually seeing each other.

She wants to kiss him again and it’s strange, so _terribly_ strange; she feels so unlike herself.

Fitz opens his mouth again, a silent question, and it pulls Jemma closer, close enough to press kisses on his face.

She kisses a spot underneath his eyebrow, on the dimple of his cheek, his nose, his eyelid—she can’t help it. She’s kissing him and she doesn’t know why apart from this crushing urge to be close to him, and that’s enough to rationalize it in this moment. She won’t be able to later—after—but now is what’s important, now is all they have.

She reaches the corner of his mouth, her lips ghosting over the skin there before leaning up to coax his own lips into another kiss—this time it’s slow, deliberate. His lips part again and she takes advantage, sweeping her tongue inside. He shudders, his lips stumbling against hers, and pulls away, fidgeting with the pillow still in his hands.  

There’s a pause, then another. Fitz swallows thickly, looking forward.

“The door,” he croaks. “I should—”

“Yes,” Jemma agrees immediately, cringing inwardly at how eager she sounds. She’d been convinced he’d pull away completely this time, demand that she leave his bunk, and she’s so unbelievably happy that he didn’t.

He stumbles towards the door, sliding it closed with a soft click before turning towards her again, and it’s utterly graceless how they bounce back to each other—a commotion of flighty hands and shared breaths, all unknown variables up until this night.

Jemma has known Fitz for over a decade, but not like this. They’re foreign to each other, clinging in hopes to find some shred of familiarity in this wholly unfamiliar circumstance, and the only thing Jemma can do is grip him tighter.

There’s something animalistic in the way she kisses him, teeth tugging at the skin of his bottom lip, relentless. The ache she feels for him is stirring in her gut, quickly spreading through her veins, and she wants it to consume her entire being.

She wants him so much. She wants his spit and his sweat and his shaking shoulders. She wants his fluttering eyelashes and the uncertainty of his hands. She wants to swallow every grunt that leaves his mouth. She wants the roughness of his hands, callouses against her burning skin. She wants the slick of his come, wants to watch his face when he falls apart.

She wants every single piece of him in this moment, the ugliest and the most extraordinary pieces of him, _god—_ she wants him so much she can hardly stand it.

Jemma almost lost him today. She’d wept for him, wept for herself, too, but mostly for him. She hadn’t realized how utterly dependent they are on each other until today, the glass doors of the lab separating them when all she wanted was to hold him close.

She wants it now, so she moves closer, crawling into his lap. His mouth is open slightly, crooked at the side and he looks so in awe of her, so vulnerable, and she realizes belatedly that this isn’t just about what she wants.

Her stomach stirs, threatening to cave in inside of her, and she falters, her lips hovering just inches away from his, her hands in his hair.

It’s Fitz who moves then, closing the space with his lips, soft and pliant, but she can feel him holding back. She feels the hesitation in his movements, hears the wheels turning in his head, and she wishes she weren’t thinking as much as he is, but there’s persistent ramblings in her mind, cluttering her head space.

And it’s all thoughts of him; how much she adores him, adores the timid press of his tongue against hers, adores the way he cautiously places his hands on her hips, bringing her closer. But mostly she’s thinking about the skin underneath his shirt, the jump of his pulse, and then she’s tugging at his tie, desperate to rid him of it.

Fitz starts a little, slow to loosen the fabric around his neck but then it’s gone and Jemma makes quick work of his shirt, her fingers jittery.

Something inside Fitz must shift, a tilt on the axis in his mind, because suddenly he’s pulling away from her lips and leaning down, boldly placing a trail of kisses to the skin of her neck, or whatever of it he can reach.

Jemma gasps, mostly caught off guard, but it quickly turns into a moan when Fitz sucks the skin above her pulsepoint into his mouth, wet and hot and hard enough to leave a mark. She shudders against him, her skin feeling impossibly hot.

Her focus is split, half on the enjoyment of his mouth against her skin and half on the task of removing his shirt. He pulls back, only slightly, to rip his arms out of his button-down and then his hands are gripping her waist. She feels the length of him, hard against her, and she grinds down, slowly.

Fitz lets out a noise, garbled and incoherent, rocking back against her. She opens her eyes to see him staring back at her, his own eyes dark with a blooming flush on his cheeks. Bracing her hand against the wall, Jemma presses down again, harder, and he crumbles underneath her, his mouth open in short, little gasps.

FInally he’s reaching for her own shirt, fumbling with the buttons, unable to breathe properly.

Together, they get her shirt off, discarding it carelessly, and Jemma barely has time to breathe before Fitz’s lips find the softness of her chest, mouthing at the skin right above her breast. He’s unbelievably tender, his kisses feather-light, and it spurs on the heat inside of her, causes it to spread down to her toes.

She reaches behind herself, undoing the clasp and watching him as she slips her bra off, and the look that spreads across his face would probably make her laugh uncontrollably, loud and stupid, but instead she feels overwhelmed and slightly choked, her heart pounding in her throat.

“Jemma—” Fitz’s voice breaks off, his mouth opening and closing as he stares at her. “You’re—”

She kisses him before he can say anything else, presses her bare chest against his. He moans brokenly into her mouth, moving his hand up to cup her breast, his hands rough and artless against her skin, and she welcomes it, greedily arching into him.

It’s gradual from there; soft sparks unfolding into full, bursting flames.  

Jemma wraps her arm around Fitz’s shoulder, pulling him closer as he tries to pull his gangly legs from his jeans, flustered and frustrated. She cups his face, brings his lips to hers, kisses away the frown on his face. Fitz’s hand hover above the button of her jeans as he looks at her, the most serious she’s ever seen him.

“Is it—is it okay if—?” he trails off, sounding unsure.

Jemma nods, not trusting her voice to say anything, but she trusts him completely, more than anyone.

He takes his time, unbuttoning and unzipping, easing the fabric down her legs. His fingers dance across her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and soon they reach the top of her underwear, decorated with lace. She hears him inhale sharply, catches his gaze and holds it.

She nods again, feels herself tremble at the slight press of his fingers into her hips.

He tugs and the cold air licks at the heat in between her thighs, makes her shiver. Then he’s settling in between her thighs, hard and heavy, and her desire overpowers every stray thought in her mind, ruins her ability to think.

She pushes his shoulder, pushing him down and he lets her until their positions are switched. She hovers, her hair frizzy and wild and forming a curtain around her face, but Fitz is looking at her like she’s something otherworldly, and the weight of it jolts her, threatens to tip her over.

He flings out an arm to his nightstand, ruffling around in his drawer to pull out a condom from a box that was previously unopened, looking sheepish as he hands it to her.

He lays back down and she follows him, smiling slowly as she settles on top of his thighs. She unwraps the condom and rolls it onto his length gently, hearing Fitz’s sharp intake of breath.

It’s a still, airless moment when Jemma lines them up, then slowly sinks.

They both groan, revelling at the feeling. Jemma clutches his hand, tangling their fingers, and moves, whimpering as he stretches her.

It’s dizzying and exhilarating and almost suffocating, the pleasure of it. She feels her inner thighs quivering with effort, sweat forming on her back as she takes him in deeper.

Fitz leans up, pressing his hands against the small of her back as he meets her thrusts, his nose pressed just underneath her collarbone, grunting softly into her skin.

It’s slow and it’s vulnerable, and they’re careful with each other—careful not to move too fast, careful not to press too hard. They drag out the feeling, moment by moment, until they can’t any longer.

Fitz shifts, changing the angle just a bit, but it’s enough to bring a new sound out of Jemma’s mouth, high and sharp. He thrusts again, hitting that spot inside of her, and she cries out, reaches for his hair, tugging.

She’s so close, so _achingly_ close, she can hardly breathe.

“Fitz,” she gasps, nails digging into his palm as she grinds down. “I—I need—”

She can’t continue but thankfully he understands, fumbling between them to press his thumb against her clit, clumsy but purposeful. She arches into him helplessly, feels herself fluttering.

“I’m—I—” her breath catches in her throat, cuts her off, and Fitz pulls her closer, his thrusts sloppy.

“It’s—it’s okay,” he whispers, sounding utterly wrecked as he shakes beneath her.

Finally, she’s spiralling, blissfully uncontrolled, a strangled sob leaving her throat as she rides the feeling out. Fitz follows her almost immediately, covering her mouth with his in effort to drown out the noise.

(They’re not particularly successful, but neither of them have the mind to care.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Later, when they're buried underneath the absurd amount of covers Fitz has, Jemma tangles her legs with his, pulling him close.

He protectively wraps his arms around her middle, pressing his nose into her side, exhaling shakily before he says: “Don’t do that again.”

Jemma nods, but her heart’s not in it. “I’ll try.”

Fitz grips her tighter, shaking his head.

“Promise me.” It’s a demand, but his voice breaks in the middle, exposing his vulnerability.  

“Okay,” Jemma whispers, hugging his shoulders. “I promise.”

It’s meaningless; they both know that. Promises are hardly reliable on their own, let alone with SHIELD.

But it’s enough, for now.


End file.
